


In My Other World

by CaptainSlow



Series: Coming Back To You Universe [9]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25489132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSlow/pseuds/CaptainSlow
Summary: In my other worldMy pain is blissI own your soulI own your kiss.**
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers
Series: Coming Back To You Universe [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785925
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	In My Other World

_The night has fallen, I'm lyin' awake_ _  
I can feel myself fading away_

_So receive me brother with your faithless kiss_ _  
Or will we leave each other alone like this?*©_

**2003, Spain. Till**

Sometimes he cannot help but wonder how love can torture a living being so much when, by definition, it should do the exact opposite, heal instead of wound. Yet, look at these two now. Till cannot quite fathom how they ended up together in the first place, and then how they have managed to survive for so many years, and then why they have to suffer so much now, even though it is obvious to at least those who know them both well enough that they love each other.

That said, even this miserable atmosphere induced by the two guitarists has its own arguable merits. Making music is a creative process, and sometimes creation requires heartache, and, if nothing else, there is enough heartache present here with them in this Spanish villa they have spent the past several weeks recording what is to become their fourth studio album. That is perhaps a poor source to take consolation from because Paul and Richard aren't some strangers to Till but two of his closest friends, but when there is nothing else to be accomplished from their notoriously uneasy relationship, he could at least tap into it to draw some inspiration and add just a pinch of gloominess to the vocals and lyrics which are eventually going to end up on the record.

Surprisingly, and to the great relief of everyone involved, this time there have been no tremendous confrontations, just your regular arguments arising now and again. Of course, there is really no chance they will be able to eliminate them completely – come on, they are a group of six people working in a highly creative environment, so perhaps the time they stop arguing on songs will be the time Rammstein stops being its unique self. The terrible terror twins, though, couldn't do without an argument or maybe a dozen solely for themselves, but, luckily for everyone, they seem to have managed to sort them out successfully enough without having to resort to spectacular shouting matches and some good old manhandling.

This can by right be considered a success but even so, here is Paul looking sadder than ever yet still doing the best he can to pretend to be his more or less normal cheerful self. Till doesn't know who he is trying to fool – or why, for that matter; after all, they have known each other for decades, have been through good and bad to be able to tell when one of them is not feeling right. Still, Till wouldn't be the one to pester him with questions unless the man himself decided to speak, which Paul very rarely does when it comes to his personal issues. Perhaps he is doing the right thing – it wouldn't do to have two depressed people in one house, and Paul adding to Richard's gloominess would likely result in yet another destructive recording session after which all of them will certainly require being admitted to a mental institution.

As to Paul's other half – because look at the two idiots, they can't even be moody separately, and Till wonders whether they even know that they complement and reflect each other so much, as if feeding on each other's emotions – Richard has been growing increasingly glum and dejected since the moment they moved in into this house. He arrived in rather good spirits, hopeful if nothing else, his and Paul's rendezvous in New York obviously working well enough to return them back on track. They did seem cautious in each other's company – a strange thing to witness, Paul biting down on his sarcasm, Richard giving up on his own opinions, both looking rather out of their element, truth be told, but it at least worked well enough in allowing them to collaborate together as a team. As weeks went by, though, Richard's hopefulness has turned sour, just as Paul's enthusiasm has turned into this ever-present sorrow which has settled in his eyes.

You don't have to be a rocket scientist to realise that things obviously aren't going as smoothly as they must have expected them to, but even this is better than the rest of the band apprehensively anticipated. Till has never asked either of the two as to what is going on with them, not wishing to stick his nose into other people's business and wisely assuming that if they want to share something that burdens them, they know where to find him or other guys. Paul has kept to himself, preferring to go through whatever is bothering him on his own, but Richard, way more talkative by nature when it comes to personal matters in comparison with Paul, is obviously in such a desperate need to speak to someone, especially these past few days after he voiced his intention of going back to New York, that Till cannot help but take pity on him.

He finds him outside, sitting on the concrete bannister of the terrace, facing the woody slope with his back turned to the house and everyone in it, with his acoustic guitar in hands strumming some quiet melody, his ridiculous blue cowboy hat carelessly perched on the back of his head a little askance. Till saunters to him, a cigarette in hand, and stops beside him, leaning on the bannister with his elbows and for the time being silently listening to what Richard is playing. He hasn't heard the melody before so he perks his ears, almost subconsciously searching through various snippets of lyrics in his head for the one which might suit it. Nothing comes to mind as of now so he just lets the music flow until Richard stops playing after a while.

"That sounds good," he says.

Richard hums something under his nose, sounding utterly unimpressed.

"Guess you could try telling this to Paul," he mutters. "He told me the very opposite in not quite so polite terms."

Till huffs, not wishing to offend Richard in any way but simply because he can imagine just what the conversation was like, he's heard oh so many of them before.

"You know how he is, come on," he says to Richard placatingly. "Work is work, it doesn't mean it's bad, it means he thinks you can do even better."

"Oh this one's fine, I guess," Richard sighs dismissively, "I can always use it for my own project; that is, if I ever go as far as actually starting it."

"So you're serious about it?" Till asks curiously.

"Are you against it?"

"I was the first to ask," Till smirks and lightly punches Richard's shoulder, "but, nope, I think it'd be good for you to just put all those ideas from that head of yours to some use. Rammstein simply doesn't have enough capacity to stuff all of them in it, anyway."

Richard nods with a weary sigh, head lowered. "Yeah, seems like it's the only way."

"Then why the long face?" Till asks tentatively, and the question makes Richard let out a bitter snort.

"I reckon you should know why," he shrugs.

"It's not working out quite as well as you two expected?"

"I don't know, Till…" he sighs again, sounding just so utterly forlorn Till's heart goes out to him.

Richard's moping about would probably seem annoying unless Till knew that it's not just moping about, that Richard, being a very sensitive and emotionally driven person, takes the whole situation all too seriously. He visited him a little less than a year ago, before his truce with Paul, and the Richard he met there in New York was but a mere shadow of his normal self, sucked so deep into the sea of depression and gloom he was hard to look at and even harder to interact with. No wonder his wife was on her way trying to put as much distance between them as possible. That said, Till muses, it only took those several days spent with Paul to bring Richard if not completely back to normal, then at least to elevate his spirits and give him a lease of new hope for months to come. That should count for something.

"It's not even like I expected much, you know…" Richard goes on but it sounds like that borrowed hope is about to run out at last. "We haven't killed each other yet, which is obviously a success. It's just that… look, I've really been trying hard not to screw up again, you should see it, too; I shut up in most cases just letting him have his way this time, do stuff the way he sees appropriate as long as the majority agree with him even if I don't."

"So have you gone all along simply hoping this record will fall flat on its face in the end?" Till asks, wondering for a brief moment if it might be the way for Richard to get back at all of them for not allowing him to have the total control in the creative department.

"God, if course not!" Richard sputters, finally giving him a look as if Till has gone out of his mind. Good, because that most likely means Till's assumption was wrong. "It's all fine, what we have done, otherwise I would never have consented to those songs… You know why I went along," he says softly, eyes helplessly drifting off in the direction of the house, where Till knows Paul is reading in the kitchen.

Till doesn't say anything to that, not for the time being, allowing Richard to shape in words whatever is torturing him because, heaven knows, he obviously needs a shoulder to cry on. So does Paul, as a matter of fact, but that one would most probably be willing to drown in his own misery in a ridiculously stubborn attempt to persuade everyone he is fine – it was a fit to endure to convince him to take the first step towards his and Richard's reconciliation and travel to the States to talk to him in the first place.

Presently, just as is expected, Richard speaks without being prompted.

"I just don't know what else I can do to make him…" he falters, and then goes on, "I don't know, to make him see or understand or trust me again. It seems I've done so much over these past few weeks I could never even imagine I could do; you know what it cost me x to go along sometimes, but, really, bugger that, let this album be what it is, what _he_ thinks it should be, it's perhaps only fair after the previous one."

"Then what's bothering you?" Till asks almost gently.

This time, Richard smiles, and it looks even more crestfallen than his recent scowl, but remains silent for a while, his eyes fixed on his shoes.

"He just wouldn't allow me to tell him that I love him. Doesn't want to hear a fucking word of it anymore," Richard says at last and shakes his head, his voice trembling just a little. "And I _do_ love him, can't fucking help it, and he just seems to be unable to tolerate it. So yeah, I've been trying to shut up about that, too, and it's… sometimes it's too much."

He falls silent again, biting his lip fiercely, his gaze now focused on a far point on the horizon, a grimace which couldn't be mistaken for anything but pain twisting his features. Till winces from the sheer sight of it because if what Richard has just told him is true – and of course it is, Richard is prone to spitting the truth into people's faces, just like Paul is – then he indeed must be going through some hell, all over again. Another thing also takes the singer aback – Richard finally openly talking about his feelings whereas previously he used to prefer to avoid the topic of his relationship with Paul altogether. Well, it must have stopped being a careless fling Richard always claimed it was. And besides, this fling of theirs has lasted longer than some people's marriages do, so he certainly has every right to be devastated now when it seems that his relationship with Paul has been undergoing more downs than ups for the past several years.

"Give him time, Richard," he says softly, almost gently, because he knows Paul, too, and he suspects that the sheer extent of misery Richard must be putting him through with those love confessions of his when half a year ago Paul was trying to convince himself Richard didn't exist, couldn't hear his name and refused to say it out loud… Richard missed it all, whilst wallowing in his own misery in the States, but Till and the rest of the guys saw and talked to Paul enough during that period to know that he, too, has come a long way. "You know that's where you two are different; you're quick to forgive and forget and move on, and he needs a while to trust you again. He will, in his own time."

Richard only nods, not looking convinced, though. "You think we still have a chance?"

"I believe love always finds a chance," Till replies, genuinely wishing that in case of his two friends, it will.

*****

**Paul**

*****

On their last night here, Paul is irresistibly drawn to Richard's room, but it is with a heart which is too heavy for the occasion that he is walking towards it, and that is simply scandalous. Because, really, why should it be heavy? They have managed to live through the past couple of months without casualties, unnecessary arguments and trying to choke each other's lights out and instead ended up recording all they had planned to record and even more. It hasn't been as easy as most certainly all of them would have preferred, but managing to at least preserve civilised relationship within the band whilst recording in a team of six – hell, it's probably more than they could have asked for.

His relationship with Richard is an utterly different story, of course, but even on that front things seem to be more promising than it was expected. That is, if general annoyance with each other, occasional sex, some more annoyance and quite a few laughs to dilute it all could be considered as promising, but, given their previous history, the mere fact that they have managed to tolerate each other enough within the walls of the same house for two months whilst engaging in creating and recording music to actually end up with enough material not for one but for two records and at the same time maintain a cordial enough relationship – well, that is, without a doubt, a success.

There is no question, though, as to whether they need a break from each other – they do, by all means, and it's not only about Richard and he but about the entire band. That doesn't come as a surprise at all – it is only natural to need a break after having lived with the same people under the same roof for a couple of months in a highly intense atmosphere of working together in an artistic field; they needed their breaks from each other in the past and they will require them in the future, no wonder about that at all.

Hence, Paul knows he should be relieved and grateful and have nothing to complain about, looking forward to spending the festive season back at home with his family. Except he isn't.

Going home and seeing his wife and kids and having some deserved rest is, of course, delightful, but somehow it hasn't been able to elevate his mood these past few days. He suspects he knows the reason for his suddenly dejected state, but he doesn't like it at all, both the reason itself and what it implies, too.

The trouble is, as per usual, Richard. Paul tells himself that it's not right to put it that way – it was never solely Richard's fault, and it isn't now, and there isn't even much fault to speak of, only Richard's decision to head for the States again, straight from their recording place in Spain. He tells himself he's not being fair towards Richard once again blaming him for something which might not even spell any kind of trouble for anyone involved, but after years of mutual misunderstanding, accusations and confrontations it is a tricky task not to, no matter how hard Paul is trying to be reasonable about it. Still, there are positives to be taken from it – if anything, a few years ago they would have been at each other's throats by now, spitting insults both justified and utterly undeserved for the sole purpose of hurting the other more. It isn't like that now, thank heaven for small mercies, and they have paid quite a price for it not to be like that anymore, so it would be foolish of him to deny that, indeed, things have considerably improved between the two of them.

Yes, they do try to talk more, doing their best not to resort to the previous modus operandi of starting a quarrel out of nowhere; and yes, they do their best not to judge the other and his ideas no matter how weird, senseless or wrong they seem; and yes, there is still something which has been salvaged and could perhaps be further preserved, some elusive promise of a normal human interaction between the two of them, an echo of something they used to share so many years ago, before any records and labels and financial issues and ideological confrontations happened, before Rammstein itself started to rule their lives. Still, if their relationship is ever destined to become closer or warmer or more trusting, this point in time is obviously years away from now.

It hurts Paul to realise it even though he knows they are the ones who brought it down on their heads with their own hands. But he also knows that if he makes a mistake now and messes something up in their uneasy relationship with Richard, he will most certainly ruin it completely, this time without any hope of restoring anything at all. He is also not an idiot to purposefully overlook how hard Richard has been struggling with his own self, too, for the sake of minimising the risk of any kind of confrontation arising within the band and between himself and Paul in particular. The effort is admirable, but Paul is still way too distrustful and hurt by their previous hurdles and everything they have been through to perhaps give the full credit to Richard. He knows he should, but maybe with time that, too, will come.

That said, this is mainly his common sense being reasonable and practical. When it comes to his heart, it is of course not that simple, it has never been and apparently isn't going to change anytime soon, no matter how cautiously he and Richard try to waltz around each other. The news of his fellow guitarist's intention to head back for the States doesn't come as a surprise – after all, it's still his current place of residence, and a break from each other is certainly due, and, unlike during the pre-recording of their previous album back there on the Baltic coast, this time Paul was the first to know about Richard's decision, which was a relief if nothing else. But… but there's always a _but_.

As far as Paul is concerned, there are two unsettling matters which have been nagging at him ever since Richard broke the news to him and then to everyone else. The first one is at least more or less justified – since it has been mentioned that Richard is indeed planning to realise all his unused potential giving his solo project a shot, it provokes reasonable questions as to what will happen if Richard's record becomes a success. It's way too early to contemplate anything like that at this stage – there is no record, not even the beginnings of it, to speak of at the moment – but it is beyond Paul's ability to stop wondering _what if._ What if it does become a success? What if Richard switches his attention to it, considering it to be more perspective than Rammstein? What will it spell for the rest of them? Is it the beginning of the end when, miraculously, they seem to have just narrowly escaped the end?

And then there is another thing, also connected with Richard's desire to become more independent in the creative field but now concerning other areas of his life, and, by proxy, concerning Paul's life, too. Despite himself, Paul wonders whether this might be the end of the two of them as well, not the explosive kind of it which nearly happened a couple of years ago, but this quiet, barely perceptible drifting apart from each other, first to different continents, then to different bands until the thread connecting them wears out so much and grows so thin that even when it snaps, no one will even pay much attention to it? The prospect seems even scarier than a possible explosive demise which would obliterate everyone, such an unnoticeable end somehow making the entire years-long affair seem so much less important than it really was and still is.

And Paul realises that he doesn't want that to happen, none of the ends, yet he also can't help wondering whether it is after all too late and by this truce they have managed to achieve they are simply biding their time waiting for the end. He knows, too, that no one will be able to tell him if this is possible, not even Richard himself, but it doesn't make the unnerving uneasiness that has settled over him feel less daunting.

So, Paul heads for Richard's room, unable to resist the constant draw that has been pulling at him like a magnet for years on end and seems to be even more intense tonight, because he needs he knows not what – reassurance, consolation, some certainty or a promise of any kind, maybe none of those or perhaps all of them together. He quietly knocks on the door, his knuckles hesitantly tapping against its wooden surface, wondering if his lover of many years and someone who he isn't even certain is still his friend – he hopes he is, but he isn't sure he is a good enough friend himself to have Richard's favour again – wondering if Richard will want to see him tonight at all. There are way too many recollections, of other nights and of other times, when Richard did not, hell, when Paul himself asked him to leave, or when he left – _ran_ – without looking back, and they aren't making this unsettling feeling go anywhere.

It's not as if he has much cause for concern right now – their relationship isn't like it was a few years ago, no real hostility between the two of them – but there is still too much coldness, no matter how desperately they have been trying to banish it at least from their bed, too much to remember and misunderstand and be offended by. Well, some encouragement is perhaps that over the past couple of months both of them have obviously been working hard to somehow ameliorate the negativity which has been accumulating for many long years. There's no doubt that the task will take way more than just a couple of months, but the results they already have are promising enough to encourage them not to give up on trying.

"Richard?" Paul calls presently, when there is no response to his knocking, his heart sinking a little.

"Yeah?" Richard's voice comes from behind the still closed door, sounding just as sad and weary as Paul is feeling, and yet Paul knows him too well to miss a hopeful quality to it as well.

"May I?" he asks, a bit more reassured, as he opens the door a crack.

There's a soft half-chuckle that reaches his ears, and then Richard's, "You really think you need to ask?"

Paul smiles, too, but there is little good cheer in it because, yes, he does feel that he is obliged to ask, and that isn't due to any gesture of politeness. The sole reason why Paul asks Richard's permission to enter is that, even though they have known each other for more than fifteen years more intimately than most people can, they have only nearly escaped turning into complete strangers, the void between them still yawning. So when Paul enters, he does so a bit uncertainly, quietly closing the door behind himself. There is a half-packed suitcase on the floor beside Richard's bed, gaping at him like a cruel reminder of the current circumstances they are in.

Richard himself is standing beside it, some garment still clutched in his hand, but his eyes are focused on the blood-red sunset that is lighting up the sky in the west. He half-turns his head to give Paul a smile which seems to be a reflection of Paul's own cheerless smirk and then focuses his attention on the window again. The silence which hangs in the room stretches for way too long, with Richard saying nothing else and Paul not really knowing what he could possibly answer to Richard's previous question. It feels awkward, too, as if they really were two strangers forced into a situation which is uncomfortable for both, even though this is so far from the truth it is ridiculous how it is even possible that it would seem so.

That's another thing which unnerves Paul, has made him feel uneasy over the whole period of their stay here in Spain, and that is Richard's unusual reticence. Whereas before he would argue until he was blue in the face, retort with something caustic, put his five cents into every conversation, now he seems unnaturally subdued, as if detached from everything that is happening here in this house. It is not necessarily bad, in most cases quite the opposite, at least as far as work with him is concerned, but that's not quite the Richard Paul is used to encountering, and he isn't sure as to how react to him, whether to be glad about it because it's a good sign of Richard becoming adequate to deal with or if it is, after all, the entire opposite. This makes that loathsome thought about whether it might be the beginning of the end rear its ugly head in Paul's mind once more.

But it shouldn't be, should it? Definitely not after they have just managed to overcome the greatest shitstorm to ever hit them, when it finally seems that the two of them and the rest of the guys can, after all, function together again, can create things again, things which also look promisingly good. But Paul knows life isn't quite like that, so the prospect of everything going straight to hell when they least expect it seems all too plausible. They have seen such things happen before, haven't they?

"Are you angry with me?" Richard asks suddenly, taking Paul completely by surprise, both with the tone of his voice – calm and somehow reconciled – and the question itself.

He is still gazing out of the window, the blazing colours outside growing a bit less vibrant, but his face is half-turned in the direction of Paul. The latter shakes his head, then realises Richard most certainly cannot see him doing it.

"No," he replies, earnestly enough. He might be many things, but angry isn't among them, not yet anyway, and he hopes it won't be. They have had enough of anger to last a lifetime. "No, I'm not."

Then Paul strides inside the room, towards Richard, suddenly needing to touch him to the point of desperation, feel his presence, the solid weight of his body against his own, as if it could somehow assure him that his fears are groundless and that everything is going to be just fine. He knows no one is going to give him such a reassurance, but Richard's comforting presence has always been able to create some sort of illusion of it even when there was no certainly of anything in both their lives.

Paul's arms weave their way around Richard's waist in a familiar fashion as he brings himself flush against his lover's body, his front pressed to Richard's back, his lips coming to rest on Richard's shoulder in a kiss too full of dismay.

"I don't want you to leave."

The words are out in an unsteady whisper before Paul has a chance to realise that he is speaking out loud and before he can reconsider, chicken out and swallow them. His breath leaves his mouth in ragged exhales and inhales, so he substitutes his mouth with his forehead, resting it against Richard's shoulder, his eyes screwed up tightly. He doesn't know if it's a plea, or a reprimand, or a cry for help, maybe all of them together, but if anything, it at least feels good to have a chance to say it to Richard instead of swallowing it and trying to smother it before it gets out. To his relief, he feels Richard's hand squeeze his own and then travel along his forearm, holding onto it securely.

The gesture feels simultaneously consoling and desperate, making Paul realise that he's not the only one here who is apparently lost and confused as to what will happen to all of them next. He doesn't know if this should bring more relief or be another cause for concern, though.

"I can't stay, Paul…" Richard murmurs, voice sounding thick as if mere speaking of it hurt him.

At the same time, his hand tightens on Paul's forearm, thumb drawing tender little caresses on his skin.

"Why do you have to go?" he asks Richard's shoulder, not lifting his head off it and pulling Richard even deeper into his embrace.

"Paul…" this time, there is something resembling a plea in Richard's voice.

"What's wrong with staying in Berlin and…" Paul trails off, unable to finish it, unable to actually articulate _'staying with me'_ because he knows perfectly well what is wrong – most things are still wrong even if they have seemingly been going in the right direction. He cannot blame Richard for it – he feels it too, yet still his reluctance to let him go anywhere, let alone go to his god-blessed America, to put another few thousand miles between them, is nigh on suffocating him.

With a sigh of his own, Richard cocks his head until it is leaning against Paul's.

"Can I get your promise this won't cause a quarrel?" he asks softly. "I don't feel like arguing on the very last night we're here, not after we've done our damnedest best to avoid confrontations over the past few months. Would be such a waste."

"Promise," Paul exhales letting his chin rest on Richard's shoulder instead. He's got no energy left for arguing anyway.

Before Richard says anything, he breathes in deeply, as if steadying himself for what is to come, the sound not coming out as anything even remotely resembling steady, though.

"I need some space," he says at last, sounding apologetic and pleading and miserable. "I can't go back just now, it's… I think it's going to be better for everyone that way."

Paul nods – he knew that much anyway. "I thought you were of a mind to come back."

"I was… I still _am,_ but if I go back now…" this time Richard actually hangs his head and shakes it, looking even more defeated than he has been these past few weeks. "Look, I'm not ready for that yet; even now there is a chance we'll… that _I_ will fuck something up, and I don't want to risk the band and this…" this time, he squeezes his hand on Paul's wrist, again. "These couple of months have worked well enough, but I'm afraid to push it too hard. Do you know what I mean?"

Slowly, Paul nods again. Damned if he doesn't.

"Yes," he sighs, his nose just an inch or so away from the side of Richard's neck, as he breathes in the scent of his skin which is perhaps more familiar to him than his own. "I guess I do…"

"Paul…" Richard murmurs softly as he slowly turns in Paul's arms to face him.

Paul feels his arms wrap around his shoulders and he can swear this is the only place he wants to be at, all their disagreements be damned for tonight; tomorrow and their parting and Rammstein and the new album and everything else be damned, too.

"Paul…" Richard repeats just as softly, somehow making Paul's name sound like a caress, and then there are his lips pressing a real physical caress onto Paul's temple. It tears a helpless sound out of his throat, a mixture of a sigh and a groan, and, desperately, Paul takes Richard's face into both of his hands, bringing their mouths together, kissing his lips, his nose, eyes with a frightening sense of desperation growing in him; his fingers brushing through Richard's hair, his hand holding him steadily and securely where he is even though Richard isn't making a single attempt to move away, quite the opposite, his lips doing the same thing Paul's lips are doing – placing little needy pecks all over his face.

They end up standing entangled into each other's arms, Richard's mouth pressed to the side of his head, Paul's to Richard's shoulder, because, suddenly, this isn’t enough for either of them, neither this closeness nor this time they have spent here together whilst recording.

"Do you think it might be the end?" Paul finally asks, not sure if it is a good idea to talk about it now but unable to help it because he needs answers. Some answers. Any answers at all.

"End of what?" Richard replies with a question of his own.

Paul just shrugs vaguely. "Well… of the band? Of us? Of everything?"

"By no means," Richard responds immediately and there is so much conviction in his voice that Paul is desperate to believe him. "Not if I can help it. That much I can promise you, Paul," he says and then moves a little way back to gently join their foreheads together, his hands on Paul's cheeks. Their noses touch and, with his eyes still closed, Paul lets them rub against each other, craving for more points of contact between them, as if trying to somehow accumulate this memory of Richard, tender and affectionate, the real him, so that it could get him through who knows how many months of separation. "It's the other way around. I'm leaving to give us a chance to save it. Do you… can you understand me, Paul?"

By way of response, Paul nods once more, all the while stroking Richard's face and head, fiercely wishing to believe that he knows what he is saying. They kiss a few more times but those are strange kisses, tender yet sad, sensual yet desperate.

"I…" Richard starts to say but even before he has a chance to finish, Paul knows what it is.

His hand shoots up to Richard's lips seemingly by its own accord, closing them gently but firmly, shutting off the words which are on the tip or Richard's tongue ready to be said.

"Don't, Richard, please," he mutters into his lover's mouth, his fingers between them like a protective shield. When there is a pained sigh, warm air brushing against Paul's palm, he screws up his own eyes, now imploring Richard for real. "Please, don't drag love into this."

"That's why I need to get away," Richard whispers, but there's no anger or accusation in his voice, only sadness and a plea for understanding. "I cannot help it and you cannot tolerate it and… Paul, please, understand me," he murmurs. "We both need time."

Paul nods because Richard is right and because it hurts him too, though he doesn't know what exactly it is – Richard telling him he loves him or his having to shut him up in time to prevent it from being said.

"Then give me something to remember this night by," Paul asks. "As a promise."

"Whichever you ask of me," Richard replies, his hands already busy pushing the hem of Paul's pullover up.

They tumble into bed, clumsily, as Paul stumbles over the half-packed suitcase, Richard landing partly on top of him, making the air woosh out of Paul's lungs, but, god, it feels heavenly to have Richard on top of himself pinning him to the mattress, such a wonderfully familiar feeling he can never experience with anyone else. Stray men in his bed lost their appeal to him long ago, and stray women – or his own legitimate wife – could never compete with Richard in terms of the sheer body mass, all those toned muscles driving him delirious every time he has a chance to put his hands on them. They start a bit too fast and a bit too impatiently, as if trying to use the little time together they have left to draw as much pleasure from being with each other as possible, but after a while, having exchanged a few hasty kisses, they slow down gradually until every single move, every single caress, every single touch is conscious and unhurried, allowing them to relish the other's closeness and create the memory which they will have to make do with for weeks and months to come.

They end up with Paul leaning against the headrest of the bed and with Richard straddling him, a position which allows them to hold on to each other and kiss properly to their hearts' content, at least for as long as they can endure kissing. This time, it seems they can do that for quite a while, with Richard setting a slow tempo and with his movements somehow gracefully fluid, making Paul just sit back there, mesmerised and savouring the feel of Richard's body, those tempting curves and those muscles straining and relaxing right beneath the palms of his hands. He drags his hands all over Richard, as far as he can reach, stroking, squeezing and pinching, but gently, oh so gently this time. He feels Richard's tongue, slick and warm, fluttering all over his lips and chin and nose, just as slick as Paul's cock is inside Richard, sliding in and out of him with that maddening heavenly smoothness.

He allows Richard to control the pace and the position, letting him do whichever feels best because for him, personally, anything they do tonight is already precious; them, still being able to engage in this, still enjoying making love to each other this much, still desiring each other enough so that at the end of the day they could temporarily forget about their disagreements; them, having managed to survive yet another recording without a major catastrophe; them, having managed to remain lovers; them, having just this one night before they are once again dragged apart to different parts of the world. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and this time Paul could perhaps testify to that – it seems that the mere thought of yet another parting is already making his heart helplessly yearn, yearn Richard and his body and his smiles and his laughter. At this very moment it is hard to imagine that he could possibly let Richard out of his arms. He knows he will have to come morning, but until then – no, Richard is his, only his, and he is going to touch him and to hold him and to memorise every single inch of his skin, every single curve of his muscles, every single line of his body all over again to have something to get him through however long they may remain apart.

It is not the words of love which are on the tip of Paul's tongue when he feels his release inevitably approaching, dragging him in towards the surge of pleasure, and there are no thoughts of love in his head, either – but there is still enough of something which is inexplicably intimate and affectionate and perhaps even devoted in everything they are doing to each other to compensate for that.

"Kiss me," Paul mutters breathlessly, voice strained and husky, as Richard's hand squeezes on his shoulder almost painfully and his breaths start to leave his mouth with vocalised gasps. "Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me," he repeats, staring up into Richard's eyes as the latter rides him towards his own release until the moment Richard obediently brings their mouths together, lips quivering and breath hot and moist and erratic on Paul's face. He is still kissing him as he shivers through the throes of pleasure, squeezing around Paul and sprinkling his stomach and chest with semen, muffling his moans against Paul's parted lips.

He kisses Paul even more deeply on the last few strokes as he brings Paul to his own orgasm, too, and then steals his every single gasp and sob. They remain like that, joint in more ways than one, for a long while, until Paul's flesh finally softens enough to slip out of Richard, and then they kiss some more, and more, and more, until Paul's lips feels bruised and sore but, oh, bruised lips are such a little price to pay when both of them are doing their best to avoid bruised hearts.

Paul isn't certain they will successfully manage to keep their hearts safe this time around because the ache in his own, temporarily dulled by all those fancy hormones his body has just released into his bloodstream, seems to be back with renewed force. Still, it's a slightly different kind of it this time in comparison with what it used to be a few years ago. Whereas before there was that loathsome listless apathy, a desire to finally put an end to everything solely for the sake of stopping the protracted mutual torment, now it is triggered by an almost bittersweet feeling, a desire to stay together for as long as possible before they finally have to let go of each other. 

Neither of them sleep well this night, Paul is certain of that much, most of it being spent in drowsy turning this way and that, lips pressing soft kisses to whichever part of the other's body is before them, fingers fluttering weightlessly over the other's skin, stroking and caressing and unable to get enough, as the electronic clock by the bed blinks the night away measuring seconds and minutes and hours until the moment they finally have to leave this bed and say good-bye for who knows how long. To Paul's surprise, now it reminds him not of the several past years of heartache but of those first few nights he and Richard spent together, both being so irresistibly drawn to each other that even a few-day parting seemed nigh on unbearable. It's so different now from those long-gone careless days of their youth but this reluctance to let go still seems to be just as strong.

By the moment the dawn breaks, painting the sky pale blue, they haven't said a word to each other throughout the whole night, but with the moment of their separation inexorably approaching, Paul is simply unable to hold back the question which has been stuck on rewind in his head. They are lying intertwined into each other's limbs, twisted blanket and twisted sheets entangled around their bodies, pillows pushed away askew. Before he speaks, though, Paul makes an attempt to crawl even deeper into Richard's embrace, relieved to feel Richard's arms tightening around him.

"Have I done something wrong?" he finally asks, lips still pressed to his lover's chest.

It isn't an accusation, and he doesn't want it to sound like one because this time he really cannot quite tell if he has messed something up. He might have, given their long mutual history of misunderstanding, or he might have stuck to his only psychological defence mechanism – hurting before Richard has a chance to hurt him, unheedingly or on purpose. This time, though, Paul never really wanted to do anything wrong, and the thought of Richard leaving for the States just keeps nagging at him making him wonder if it is, after all, his fault again.

Before answering, Richard wriggles in the tight hold of Paul's arms, making the latter loosen it reluctantly, and then shifts his position so that he could face him. They are still way too close to each other to be able to lock eyes, so they give up on that, joining their mouths and noses and foreheads instead.

"No," Richard answers after a while, shaking his head a little. "Guess we've done as well as we could, given the circumstances."

Paul nods, somewhat appeased, but not much. He feels Richard's palms on his back, though, sliding slowly over his shoulder blades and along his spine, and that is a bit more reassuring. Then they slip down to his waist and then to his behind, holding him firmly in place as Richard rolls onto his back, pulling Paul after himself until the latter ends up sprawled on top of him in a messy tangle of blankets, arms and legs.

"Can I call you sometimes?" he murmurs right into Richard's ear, so quietly as if he were asking for something outrageously inappropriate.

"Of course," follows an immediate answer, which also sounds both a little surprised and hopeful. "Mind the time difference, though."

Richard's soft huff makes Paul chuckle in response and he hugs him a bit closer.

"You can come visit whenever you feel like, too, you know?" This time, Richard sounds nothing if not hopeful, yet that is a frighteningly brittle hope, just like this fragile balance they have seemingly managed to achieve.

"Alright," Paul says, not sure if he will be willing to, but this seems to be a good way to say good-bye to each other for the time being, a promising way if nothing else.

Instead of a reply, there is Richard's sigh, deep and slightly uneven, but there is unmistakable relief in it, too, which matches Paul's own. Well, he might be right on this one – they have done as well as they could in the present circumstances. It could have been way worse, yet here they are, in one bed and, what is more important, not lonely in each other's company anymore.

*****

**Till**

*****

On their last day, Richard has to leave a little before the rest of them – his flight to New York departs a couple of hours earlier. The parting is amiable enough even despite the certain ambiguity regarding their future and the future of the band, even despite Richard's vows that if he starts a solo project, it will be exclusively for the sake of keeping Rammstein alive and breathing and in business. Given the circumstances, it does seem reasonable, so no one really voiced any objections to it, not even Paul, at least not openly, and as to Till himself – just like he told Richard a few days before, he personally believes that giving Richard an opportunity to express himself the way he needs to elsewhere is perhaps the only way to keep the balance within the band. Otherwise, they are likely to come to the repetition of the Mutter recording, and he is certain no one is particularly keen on such a prospect, hence the general support for Richard in his venture.

Unwillingly, he becomes a witness of Richard and Paul's parting. The two are in the back yard, which is overlooked by the large windows in the kitchen, giving Till a perfect view of them. He cannot see Richard's face from his vantage point as the man is facing away from the house but has a perfect view of Paul's face as the latter steps into Richard's arms for a farewell embrace. Sad as the rhythm guitarist has looked as of late, he still seemed composed enough, yet now his face lacks all his meticulously constructed guise, revealing emotions so profound Till cannot help but empathise with him.

Paul's brow is creased and eyes are more than just sad – there is anguish in them, pure and unveiled, the delicate features of his face bearing a grimace of pain which is so similar to what Till could observe on Richard's own face a few days back that the resemblance is striking. As Paul steps into Richard's embrace, his hands come to clutch at his shoulders and then travel all the way up to the back of his head, fingers twisting into Richard's hair. Richard just envelops Paul into his arms, holding him so tightly as if he were of a mind to pack the man into his suitcase and just drag him all the way across the ocean with him. It makes Till wonder why on earth he cannot do just that, or why Paul cannot allow him to do that, but it's not his place to ask such questions, of course.

Meanwhile, Paul hides his face against Richard's shoulder, eyes screwed up tightly shut if those angry wrinkles running from their corners could be any indication. He lifts his head soon, though, to press a brief kiss to Richard's lips, his features distorted. Then he says something and backs out of Richard's arms motioning him to go, but bis own hands are still holding on to Richard's shoulders, and Richard himself doesn't look like he is particularly thrilled by having to let Paul out of his arms. It makes Till muse just how cruel it is that people who obviously love each other so much and who direly need to be together – just look at them now, Richard's shoulders slouched in defeat, Paul looking on the verge of tears – still have to part like this.

Finally, Richard nods, his hand briefly squeezing Paul's shoulder once more, and Paul turns on his heels and strides away without looking back, head lowered down, leaving Richard alone in the back yard, his suitcases beside him, the personification of loneliness itself.

**Author's Note:**

> Some gloom and doom to brighten your Friday night XD
> 
> Inspired by miserably looking Richard in the Making of Reise, Reise. And yep, here it all is going to get confused because bye bye chronology.
> 
> *Streets of Philadelphia by Dire Straits  
> **In my other world by Depeche Mode


End file.
